


Stepping Stones

by grimm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Mates, kid!Sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimm/pseuds/grimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is three days away from his sixth birthday when he meets his mate for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 5, 0

**Author's Note:**

> What began as a prompt for kid!Sterek on tumblr has grown into a small verse. Expect sporatic updates here. This is not a story (at least, not yet); rather vignettes of a Beacon Hills where Stiles and Derek grew up knowing each other. These little glimpses into the past come in no particular order, with no particular plot, and can be read in any sequence. 
> 
> If the first two chapters seem familiar, it's because they have already been posted in "you make my heart ache." I decided to make a separate home for this verse before it grew too large.

Derek is three days away from his sixth birthday when he meets his mate for the first time. He's standing with his mom, Talia, after school one day while she talks with his first-grade teacher, Mrs. S. Derek leans against his mom's legs, not really listening to the adults talk about the upcoming Thanksgiving celebration. He's tired; the full moon was the night before and it was the first time he'd ever been able to fully contain the shift. The warmth of his mother's body is comforting, as is the gentle hand she rests against the back of his head.  
  
A man comes into the classroom and Derek turns to watch him. He's stocky and tanned and dressed in a police uniform. He's carrying a baby carrier in one hand, which juxtaposes strangely with the gun holstered on his other hip.  
  
"My two favorite boys," Mrs. S says fondly.  
  
"Deputy," Talia greets politely.  
  
"Mrs. Hale," the man nods.  
  
"Derek," Mrs. S says to him, "this is my husband."  
  
Derek looks up at the man, who gives him a firm smile. Derek finds himself intimidated by the man's uniform and gun and looks at the baby in the carrier instead.  
  
"Sorry," his mother laughs softly. "He gets shy sometimes."  
  
"That's quite all right," the deputy chuckles.  
  
Derek's staring at the baby, his pale eyes locked on its chubby face. The baby stares back with soft amber eyes, blinking sleepily. It smells - Derek takes a step away from Talia, breathing in deeply. The baby smells like clean cotton and _family,_ and the scent fills him with warmth and comfort.  
  
"This is Stanisław," Mrs. S says softly, kneeling down beside Derek. "But we call him Staś. Maybe the two of you will be friends someday."  
  
Derek reaches out a curious hand, then pauses, glancing at Mrs. S for the okay. She nods, smiling, and Derek stretches his hand out all the way. The baby's fingers curl around his pointer finger and Staś shrieks with laughter. Derek smiles timidly as Mrs. S pats him on the shoulder. "There," she says. "He likes you!"  
  
"All right," Derek's mom says, gently tugging on his hair. "We should get going. You're helping me with dinner tonight."  
  
"Have a good night, Derek," Mrs. S says cheerfully, getting to her feet.  
  
"Bye," Derek says reluctantly, as Talia puts a hand on his back and guides him out of the classroom. With every step toward the classroom door, however, it feels like his heart is being pulled from him, his limbs filling with lead. By the time they reach the hall, Derek's starting to cry and his mother kneels down to cup his face in her hands.

"What's wrong, baby boy?" she asks softly, her brow furrowing with worry.

Derek doesn't know what's wrong; all he knows is that his body feels like it's splitting in two. He wraps his arms around his mom's neck and she picks him up easily, backpack and all, cradling his head to her neck. In the classroom behind them,  Staś ' voice raises in high wail. 

"Guess everyone's tired today," Talia murmurs, planting a soft kiss on Derek's temple. 

At home, Derek sits at the kitchen counter and lets Talia wipe off his tear-stained face with a wet rag. Outside, Laura and his other siblings scream with laughter as they play in the late afternoon sun, but Derek still feels like he's being pulled in two directions. 

"Mama?" he asks quietly, as Talia begins washing vegetables in the sink. 

"Hmm?" she hums, tilting her head toward him. 

He digs at the counter with a long fingernail and takes a deep breath. "Are there such things as mates?"


	2. 12, 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I asked my Twitter [followers](https://twitter.com/Grimm_times/status/354751439916113920) for an age & situation prompt, and [Sam](taidou.tumblr.com) suggested Derek age 12, Stiles age 7, and bullies.

Derek is twelve when his mother gently takes him by the shoulders and tells him to stay away from his mate. 

"You're almost a teenager," Talia says softly. "Your body's going to start changing and it's going to get hard to control your wolf. If you go near Stiles, you're putting both of you in danger. Do you understand?"

Derek nods miserably. He could hurt Stiles and Stiles is only seven, far too young to know about him, what Derek is, what _Stiles_ is.

But in a town as small as Beacon Hills, it's harder to keep his promise to his mother than he thought it would be. He sees his mate all over the place; at the grocery store, at the library, at the soccer field. Derek's usual route home from the middle school leads him past the elementary school, so he has to find a new way to the house. Every day he comes home and doesn't smell like Stiles earns him a proud smile from his mother. 

What's worse, though, is that Derek can _feel_ Stiles sometimes, when he's particularly upset or angry, even when he's happy. And as a young kid with a lot of energy, Stiles feels _everything_ vibrantly and, as a result, Derek feels it too. It's hard to ignore and it gets worse after a few months, when Stiles suddenly feels miserable every single day. It gets worse and worse, anguish sitting in Derek's heart like a lead weight, until one day it's so unbearable that Derek sits at the breakfast table, twelve years old, and cries. Laura laughs at him until Talia snaps at her and makes her clean all the bathrooms as a punishment. She takes Derek and curls with him on the couch, one hand pressed to his brow, humming and soothing, until he falls into an uneasy sleep.

The reason for Stiles' distress becomes clear a few days later, when Talia is reading the newspaper and gasps softly, putting a hand over her mouth. "Oh, baby," she says, taking Derek's hand and squeezing it. "His mom died."

Derek's face goes white, remembering Mrs. S. and her kind voice, sunny days in her classroom. "Can we go to the funeral?" he asks hoarsely. 

"Of course, sweetheart."

Talia takes Derek to buy him a suit and they go to the church where the service is held and they stand in the back, listening to a priest bemoan the loss of such a bright soul. Derek leans against his mom, her arm firmly around his shoulder, and he watches the back of Stiles' head. Stiles is so small, sitting with his head bowed and shoulders hunched while the sheriff sits next to him, a heavy hand on his son's shoulder. Derek can smell the heartbreak rolling off Stiles and it turns his stomach. He whimpers softly, frightened for Stiles, frightened for the loss of his own mother, and Talia leans down and kisses the top of his head.

After the service, Talia lets him go up to the front and he mumbles, "I'm sorry," to the sheriff before turning to Stiles. Behind him, Talia offers her condolences to Stiles' father and Derek hears her, faintly, but most of his attention is on the small boy in the too-large suit in front of him. Stiles clutches at the hem of his jacket, eyes flitting around the church nervously. 

"Hey Stiles," Derek says awkwardly, and Stiles' amber eyes focus on him. 

"Hi Derek," Stiles mumbles. He's got a couple teeth missing and he whistles through the gaps anxiously.  

"I," Derek says hesitantly. "I'm sorry about your mom."

"Me too," Stiles whispers, his face puckering. Derek can smell the sadness rolling in, about to crash like a tidal wave. The sheriff senses it too, turns and says, "Oh - " but before either of them can react, Stiles flings himself forward, arms wrapping around Derek's chest like a cable, sobbing into his new suit. Derek looks over at his mother, terrified she's going to pull him away, but she just nods sadly. Derek hesitantly returns Stiles' embrace. He's nearly a foot taller than Stiles at this point, and it's awkward standing there, but there must be something that soothes Stiles because his body slowly relaxes and he stops crying. He lets go of Derek eventually and wanders over to his father without a word, reaching out and clutching at his big hand. Talia takes Derek home. 

Derek's walking home nearly a month later when he feels a stab of anxiety from Stiles. Stiles' feelings had gradually faded after the funeral, still there but less intense. This burst of unhappy energy brings Derek's head up, scenting the air. It stabs at him again, frightened and distressed, and Derek's feet are moving before he has time to think, carrying him down the long, quiet streets of Beacon Hills.

Derek's only a few blocks from the elementary school when he spots Stiles, trotting down the sidewalk with a Batman backpack slung over his shoulders. There are two older boys trotting along on either side of him - not Derek's age but maybe ten or so. They're shoving at Stiles and Derek can hear them taunting him. They're laughing because his mom is dead and Stiles has his head down and he's not crying but Derek can smell the tears burning in his eyes. One of the boys pushes Stiles hard enough to fall and Derek smells his skin tear on the concrete.

Derek snarls, low and furious, setting a hound a few houses back howling. Stiles doesn't turn but the older boys do and their faces pale when they see Derek tearing down the street after them, eyes burning blue. They scream, high-pitched and shrill, and cut and run. Derek is satisfied to see one of them trip and smack his face into the concrete before scrambling up again, nose leaking copious amounts of blood. Stiles has finally gotten to his feet and turned to see what's going on. He beams when he sees Derek. 

"Hi!" Stiles exclaims cheerfully, a wide smile splitting his face. He acts like nothing is wrong, but Derek can still smell the unease on him, the slight burn of salt water in his eyes. His hands and knees are bleeding from where he hit the sidewalk.

"Hi," Derek says. He nods to where the boys who'd been bullying Stiles are disappearing around the corner. "Do they bother you a lot?"

"Sometimes," Stiles says, his mouth going hard and unhappy. "They think it's funny. About Mom."

"Do you want me to walk with you?" Derek asks and Stiles nods without hesitating. They walk together toward the Stilinski house and Stiles talks non-stop. He tells Derek how his class is raising frogs from tadpoles and how they get to take one home if there's enough frogs for everyone. He tells Derek about his best friend Scott and how Stiles dared him to eat a bee and he _did,_ he _did,_ Derek, and then he had to go to the hospital because it turned out he was slightly allergic to bees and then Stiles got yelled at by his dad _and_ Scott's mom. He tells Derek how he doesn't really like the lady who watches him after school. She won't let him watch television and her idea of a snack is carrots and peanut butter and Stiles wants _Gushers._

Stiles' chatter lasts them all the way to the block his house sits on before he suddenly goes quiet. Derek glances down at him and sees him staring at his house. The scent of misery is growing on him again. Derek wonders if he's afraid of the house, if it feels too empty now that his mom is gone. He wonders if Stiles has nightmares. 

They reach the walkway to the front door of the house and Stiles stops, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the pavement. Derek looks up at the house and sees a woman appear at the front door, watching them. She looks kind, but bland. 

"Thanks for walking with me," Stiles mutters. 

"You're welcome," Derek says politely. He glances toward the house again and then says, "If those guys bother you again, tell me, okay? I won't let them hurt you." 

"Okay," Stiles says quietly. 

Derek hesitates again. He knows his mom will be furious, but he can't let Stiles get hurt. "Do you want me to walk with you every day?"

Stiles looks up at him hopefully. "Yes?"

"Okay," Derek says, grinning, and Stiles grins back. 

The woman in the house steps out onto the porch and Stiles takes his cue, trotting up the walk. He twists as he goes, shouting excitedly over his shoulder, "See you tomorrow, Derek!" 

Derek waves. When he gets home, Talia frowns, but her face softens when Derek tells her about the boys bullying Stiles. She doesn't tell him he can walk with Stiles, but she doesn't say no, either. 


	3. 7, 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring Polish names for [Nashi](lonewolfed.tumblr.com)!

Derek steps triumphantly out of the pharmacy, plastic bag clutched in one hand, spare change in the other. He's feeling very proud of himself; his mother is a few stores down in the grocery store and trusted him enough at age seven to go to the pharmacy and pick up some things for her. Even better, she'd told him he could use the change to buy a candy bar, so there's a Reese's in the bag, waiting for him to enjoy it.

He's supposed to go back to the store as soon as he's done, but as he trudges through the dusty supermarket parking lot, his ears pick up the beating of a heart that's very important to him. Derek twists, seeking, and sees them - Mrs. Stilinski and her young son, his mate, sitting on a bench. Mrs. S sees him and waves and Derek casts a guilty look at the store before trotting over to them.

"Hi, Derek," Mrs. S says kindly, her face crinkling with a smile. She has Staś on her lap; he watches Derek with big, solemn eyes. Derek stares back. "What are you doing today?"

Derek hoists the bag. "Mom wanted bandaids."

"Nice job," Mrs. S says sincerely. She pats the bench next to her. "Why don't you sit with Stiles and I?"

Derek climbs onto the bench next to her. "Why did you call him that?" He eyes Staś, who's still watching him silently.

"He can't quite say Staś," Mrs. S laughs. She tickles Stas' sides and he giggles, squirming under her touch. "Can you, honey? Say _Staś_ for me."

Staś blinks his wide brown eyes up at his mother and says obligingly, "Stalls."

A smile crinkles the corner of Mrs. S's eyes and she taps Staś on the nose. "See? We thought Stiles was easier."

"Stiles," Stas agrees.

"Stiles," Derek repeats slowly. The toddler beams at him and he smiles back.

"You want to hold him?" Mrs. S asks. Derek swallows and nods, gently lifting Staś - _Stiles_ \- under the arms when Mrs. S passes him to Derek. Stiles laughs, delighted, and Derek grins. Mrs. S beams. "You're doing a good job, hon. Do you have younger siblings?"

"Cora's a baby," Derek tells her. He can feel himself relaxing, the physical contact with his mate making him feel content. "Can I give him candy? I got a Reese's."

"Just a small piece," Mrs. S smiles, and Derek roots excitedly through his bag until he finds the chocolate. He breaks off a tiny piece and offers it to Stiles, and his heart swells when Stiles wraps his tiny fingers around Derek's hand before accepting.

"Derek?"

Derek's head comes up quickly, guilt surging through him. He sees his mom standing outside the grocery store and waves at her. Derek winces at the exasperated expression she makes, feeling her irritation as she approaches.

"Hon, I asked you to come back into the store when you were done," she admonishes Derek, who hunches his shoulders guiltily.

"I'm sorry, Talia," Mrs. S says, patting Derek on the arm. "I'm afraid I kidnapped Derek."

Talia smiles faintly, reaching out to ruffle Derek's hair. "Next time," she says, "you just need to tell me, okay?"

Derek nods. Mrs. S says, "Why don't you sit with us for a minute? The weather's so nice today."

"I think we can spare a second," Talia agrees, setting her bags down and sitting down on Derek's other side. The two mothers talk about school and kids and Derek relaxes further, kicking his heels idly. Stiles slumps against him, the weight of him warm against his chest. He smells sleepy and content and Derek feels proud, happy his mate's happy. He almost falls asleep there but suddenly Stiles is being lifted from his lap and his mom's saying, "Come on, sweetheart. We've got to get home."

"Noooo," Derek whines, even as he gets off the bench. "Mom - "

"We'll see them again soon," Talia says, a note of warning in her voice. _Don't push it_ , he hears, and bites his lip, casting Stiles a sad glance. Talia's face softens as she watches her son and says to Mrs. S, "Maybe Laura could babysit for you sometime. Cora's the same age as Staś, and Laura watches her all the time."

"That would be wonderful," Mrs. S smiles, and tells Derek in a conspiratorial tone, "It's been a while since Mr. S and I had a date night." Derek makes a face and she laughs. "I'll give you a call, Talia."

"There," Talia says to Derek. "You'll see him again. Let's get these groceries to the car, okay?"

"Okay," Derek agrees reluctantly. But as his mom heads down the rows of cars, Derek hesitates a moment longer.

Mrs. S smiles sympathetically and leans forward, murmuring in Stiles' ear, "Can you say _bye_ , hon? _Bye, Derek!"_

"Bye, Derk!" Stiles parrots, beaming. Derek grins and leans forward and plants a kiss on Stiles' soft forehead just as his mom hollers, "Derek!" Derek takes off down the parking lot, shouting over his shoulder, "Bye, Stiles!"


	4. 10, 5

"What is this?" Laura asks patiently, holding up the flashcard.

Stiles, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor of the Hale house, gives it a distracted look. "Um," he says, his eyes sliding toward the dining room, where Derek's doing his math homework.

"Stiles," Laura says. "Come on."

Stiles looks back at the flashcard. "Bear," he says guiltily.

"Can you spell it for me?"

"B-E-A-R," Stiles recites, eyes sliding back to Derek, who's sitting with his back to them.

"Oh, just go," Laura sighs. "I know you like Derek better than me anyway."

Stiles, five years old, already knows how to be tactful. "I do not!" he protests, adding diplomatically, "I like you both equally."

Laura laughs, not offended. He doesn't know it's because she can hear the lie in his voice when he says that he likes them equally. A perfect stranger could tell he's infatuated with Derek. Laura leans in, lowering her voice. "Go on," she says. "See if you can sneak up on him."

Stiles grins and scrambles to his feet. He doesn't see the Laura covers her mouth to stifle a giggle, or the way Derek's shoulders tense as he listens to Stiles creep his way around the edge of the living room. Stiles clambers onto the arm of the couch, wobbles precariously, then leaps out in the dining room, bellowing, "Boo!"

Derek swivels in his chair, completely unimpressed, and Stiles pouts. "You're impossible to scare!"

"Yeah, Der," Laura says, getting to her feet. "You need to turn those senses of yours off."

"That's impossible!" Stiles chimes.

"Yeah," Derek agrees, glowering at Laura. "Impossible."

Laura rolls her eyes as she heads into the kitchen. "All right, grumpy pants. Stiles, you want a snack?"

"Yes!" Stiles says excitedly, pattering after Laura. She fixes him a plate of crackers and cheese, which he brings back out to the dining room table. Laura follows with a glass of juice, which she sets down next to him before ruffling his hair and retreating into the living room.

Stiles munches on his cheese and crackers, legs swinging back and forth as he watches Derek bend his head over his homework. His mom says Derek is quiet, which is true, but he always has a smile for Stiles. He never ignores him, not like a lot of the older kids do - and Stiles' peers, too. He doesn't have a ton of friends, but that doesn't matter when he has Derek. And Laura too, he thinks loyally.

"Where's Cora?" Stiles asks Derek curiously. He doesn't really think Cora likes him that much, but she's one of the only people his age he sees outside of school.

"Dad took her fishing," Derek replies, not lifting his head.

Stiles thinks about this, chewing furiously on a cracker. "Where's your mom?" he asked, spitting crumbs across the table.

"In the garden," Derek tells him at the same time Laura calls from the living room, "Don't talk with your mouth full, Stiles!"

Stiles grins guiltily at Derek, who smiles back conspiratorially and reaches over, snagging a cracker over Stiles' noise of protest. "You want to go for a walk?"

"Yes!" Stiles exclaims frantically. "Laura - "

"Go ahead," Laura calls. "Der, his mom's going to be here in an hour."

"That's enough time," Derek says, getting to his feet. "You coming?"

Stiles crams the last few crackers in his mouth, looking like a chipmunk, and scrambles after Derek, who's heading for the back door.

Stiles loves going out to the Hale house. He loves Laura, who treats him like a little brother, and he loves the rest of the Hales - Talia, who is a lot like his mom, soft-spoken and kind; Derek's dad with his deep laugh; Uncle Peter, who lifts him upside down and carries him around by his feet. Even Cora, when she will play with him. But most of all Stiles loves Derek, who is gentle and treats him like an equal. Sometimes leaving the house hurts him and he cries all the way home.

Almost every day, Derek and Stiles go on a walk through the woods behind the Hale house. Derek notices all kinds of things Stiles doesn't; they've seen deer and rabbits and porcupines and all kinds of weird bugs. They climb trees and jump stones in the stream and scale steep inclines and Stiles can think of nothing more fun than the golden afternoons he spends in the woods with Derek.

They tumble out the back door and into the garden, where Talia's standing surrounded by plants, a cup of coffee in her hand. She turns to watch them pass, a faint smile quirking her lips. Derek waves at his mother and Stiles pipes, "Hi, Talia!"

Talia nods and watches them disappear amongst the trees. They play hide and seek for a while - Derek is unerringly good at both hiding and seeking - until the light starts to change and Stiles finds himself stranded halfway up a tree.

Derek stands on the forest floor below him, hands on his hips. He looks alarmingly like Stiles' mom when she's mad at him. "Trees are supposed to be off-limits," he says.

"You keep finding me," Stiles protests. He's got his arms and legs wrapped around the trunk like a koala.

Derek sighs. "You made it up there. You can make it down."

"I - I don't think I can," Stiles admits.

"Your mom's going to be here soon," Derek points out.

"I - " Stiles manages to worm about a foot further before he stops. There's a branch in his way and he can't go any further.

"You're - you're not too far up," Derek says. "Just jump."

Stiles cranes his head to look at Derek. It's not that far. He can do this. "Okay," he breathes, and puts his feet on the branch, pushing himself up to a wobbly standing position. Derek spreads his arms below him, like he's going to catch him. "Okay!" He jumps.

 _Not too far_ is more like eight feet. Stiles hits Derek like a sack of bricks and they both hit the ground. Stiles throws out his hands as he hits and something in his wrist snaps. _"Owwww!"_ he howls, tears welling in his eyes. 

"Stiles!" Derek wheezes frantically, clutching at his ribs as he sits up. "Hey - "

"It _hurts!"_ Stiles screams at him, big tears slipping down his cheeks. He pulls his hand to his chest protectively, though the damage has already been done. 

"Let me see it!" Derek demands, but Stiles pulls away from him, hunching over his arm. Derek follows, catching Stiles by the elbow. "Come on," Derek says, voice softening. "Let me see."

Stiles sniffs and holds out his arm. His wrist is already swelling. Derek hesitates, then touches his wrist gently. Stiles whimpers but then his eyes widen as dark lines go swirling up Derek's fingers, across his palm and up his arm. The pain in his wrist recedes, a golden glow of heat and comfort swelling in his head. 

"You can't tell anyone I did this," Derek whispers. 

"Are you a superhero?" Stiles asks, his amber eyes wide.

Derek grins faintly and shakes his head. "Promise you won't tell?"

"Promise," Stiles agrees. 

They very gingerly climb to their feet. The pain starts to come back as Derek takes his hand away, but it's not as bad as it first was. Stiles slips his uninjured hand into Derek's as they walk through the forest, though, and Derek's fingers curl around his, warm and reassuring. 

They meet Talia halfway to the house. She's crashing through the bushes toward them, worry and anger lining her face. 

"Derek Andrew Hale!" she says fiercely, upon spotting them. "I heard - " 

"Mom," Derek says quietly, wincing back from her wrath. "Stiles is hurt."

Talia's head swings toward Stiles, who smiles bravely. She takes in his tear-stained face and the way his hand clutches Derek's, and her face softens. "All right, sweetheart," she says. "Your mom's waiting."

In the end, Stiles gets a neon green cast and Derek gets grounded for two weeks. He has to stay in his room when Laura's babysitting Stiles, but Stiles mopes so much that Laura doesn't tell their mom that she lets Stiles into Derek's room so they can see each other. Laura is a romantic - plus, she's reading _Romeo and Juliet_ in school and doesn't want to repeat that ending. She sits on the couch in the living room, reading, hiding a smile as she listens to Stiles and Derek up in his room, Stiles giggling as Derek signs his cast with a heavy black paw print. 


	5. 12, 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (early) Halloween! This was supposed to be cute, but it turned sad instead. Deals with the death of Stiles' mom. Stiles is 7 and Derek is 12 in this round. Thanks to [Jo](blacktofade.tumblr.com) for helping me out! It's nothing like we discussed.

Three months after Claudia dies, the sheriff comes home one evening a few weeks into October and takes him to Toys R Us. Stiles, who hasn't smiled much in the past few months, bounces on his heels as they walk into the store, tugging at his father's shirt. 

"Why are we here, Dad?" Stiles asks curiously. "It's not my birthday."

"No, it's not," the sheriff agrees, putting his hands on his son's skinny shoulders and steering him toward a Halloween display at the front of the store. "I thought we'd pick you up a costume."

Stiles' steps falter. He puts on the bakes completely a few yards away from the display, his face going mulish. "I don't want one of those."

"Stiles," the sheriff sighs, tugging him forward. "Come on. I know you love Halloween."

Stiles shakes his head, his eyes starting to go glassy. "I don't want one of those," he repeats, a little louder. "Mom always makes my costume!" 

The sheriff heaves another sigh. And here he'd been thinking the most difficult part about this trip would be Stiles trying to decide between being Spiderman or Batman. "That's not happening this year, Stiles. You know that."

Stiles blinks and tears go spilling down his cheeks but the loud outburst the sheriff is expecting doesn't come. Instead, Stiles reaches up, clutching at the sheriff's hand, and whispers, "I want Mom to make my costume."

The sheriff looks down at his son, his heart aching. "I'd like that too," he tells Stiles softly, "but she's not coming back."

Stiles' face crumples and the sheriff bends, swinging Stiles up into his arms. Stiles sobs and wraps his skinny arms around the sheriff's neck. The sheriff can feel his body shaking, Stiles' tears damp against his neck. There's a woman standing with her daughter a few feet away; she shoots the sheriff a sympathetic look and he has to look away, his throat tightening.

"Let's go home," the sheriff says quietly, smoothing a hand over Stiles' soft hair. "We'll figure something else out." 

Stiles sniffles the whole way home. The sheriff watches him through the rearview mirror, scrubbing at his tear-stained cheeks with small hands, and his heart clenches. Later that night, after the sheriff puts Stiles to bed, he sits downstairs in front of the television and drinks half a bottle of whiskey. All the burn does is stroke the flames of misery in his chest.

-

A couple of days later, the sheriff comes home one afternoon to find the kitchen's been turned into a craft zone. Stiles and Derek Hale are sitting on the floor painting a cardboard box silver. Stiles has managed to drip silver paint all down his arm, on his pants, and his shirt. There are smears of silver paint on his cheeks, like he's been wiping at his face and when he turns to grin at the sheriff in welcome, there's paint on his _teeth_ and how he managed that the sheriff doesn't have a clue, but leave it to his son to do it. He sighs internally but smiles when Stiles says, "Hi, Dad!"

"Stiles," he says. "Derek. What's going on here?"

"We're making my Halloween costume!" Stiles says excitedly. "I'm gonna be a robot. Derek's made one before!"

"I was in a play in elementary school," Derek offers shyly. 

"Uh huh," the sheriff says. He's not sure why a twelve-year-old boy would want to hang out with a seven-year-old - especially not his spastic seven-year-old - but Derek's known Stiles since he was a baby, and Stiles loves him. Derek's always been polite and anyway, the sheriff feels a little better knowing that Stiles has someone to care about him when the sheriff's at work. Speaking of, where was the damn babysitter? "Where'd Cindy go?"

"She said since Derek promised to stay until you got home, she was going to go," Stiles replies, his attention shifting back to the box. His eyes light up. "Derek, do I get _rockets?"_

"I don't think robots have rockets," Derek says uncertainly. The sheriff smiles to himself and retreats to the dining room, where he spreads his papers over the table, the sound of the boys laughing drifting in as he works.

A dragging noise has him lifting his head a couple of hours later and he has to cover his mouth to hide a grin when Stiles comes shuffling into the room, skinny arms sticking out the sides of the silver cardboard box. There's another box on top for the head, painted with a lopsided grin, jagged holes cut for the eyes. Derek follows behind him, grinning. 

"Hold up right there," the sheriff says, pointing a finger at Stiles. "Who let you into my house? You got any inspection records on you?"

The robot giggles and waves its arms around. "Dad, it's me!" it protests in a muffled voice. "It's me, Stiles!"

"You're Stiles?" the sheriff asks in awe. "You sure fooled me."

Stiles giggles again and swings around to face Derek. "It looks real!"

"Yeah," Derek agrees, his eyes crinkling up around the corners as he grins. "Everyone at school's going to be scared."

-

After his next shift, the sheriff stops by the hardware store on the drive home and picks up some dryer venting. He may not know how to use a sewing machine, but he knows that robots don't have human limbs. Stiles does a little dance in front of the mirror after the sheriff tapes the silver tubing to the cardboard box, pleased as punch. 

"Well," the sheriff says, as he tries to remember where he left the camera. "It's a lot better than a store-bought costume, huh?"

Stiles stops dancing around and takes off his robot mask. "I love you, Dad," he says seriously and the sheriff smiles sadly. 

"I know," he says softly, and holds out his arms for a robot-sheriff hug. 

-

The sheriff brings his son to school on the morning of Halloween with Stiles in the backseat already in costume. He's making quiet noises; if the sheriff strains his ears to hear, they sound vaguely…robotic. Maybe he's practicing. 

The sheriff pulls up to the front door of the elementary school and gets out of the car so he can open the door and lift Stiles out; he's not all that graceful in his costume. The sheriff pats him on the top of his cardboard head. "Behave yourself," he cautions. "Don't eat a ton of candy."

"Beep," the robot agrees. "Boop."

The sheriff sighs and watches his son shuffle toward the doors. He thinks they're going to be all right. 

-

Two hours later, he gets a call from the school and ends up in the principal's office. Stiles, still in costume, is in a chair next to him, swinging his legs. The dryer venting crinkles as he moves. 

"Stiles," the sheriff says patiently, "take your mask off, please."

The robot doesn't answer. He can't tell if Stiles is looking at him or not. The sheriff sighs and reaches out to pluck the box off his head but the robot reacts violently, swinging an hand and karate-chopping the sheriff's arm with a loud _"Beep!"_

 _"Stiles,"_ the sheriff snaps.

"That's what he did to Mrs. Finch," the principal says helpfully. The sheriff casts him a dark look and yanks the head off the robot's shoulders, revealing his son's face, flushed and mutinous. 

"Boop," Stiles says moodily.

"You're not a robot, Stiles," the sheriff says sharply. "Cut it out."

Stiles juts out his bottom lip and kicks his legs harder, but doesn't argue. 

"Stiles," the principal says, "why don't you go wait outside while I talk to your dad." She waits for the door to shut behind Stiles before saying, "Mrs. Finch says Stiles is growing combative and disruptive in the classroom, sheriff. Are things all right at home?"

The sheriff opens his mouth, then closes it again. There's a lot of tears, a lot of Stiles getting angry at him because the sheriff doesn't know how to, or can't, do things the way Claudia did. A lot of questions and few answers. "He misses his mom," the sheriff says finally, his mouth going thin.

"Is he seeing a therapist?"

"He - no," the sheriff says guiltily. Someone at the hospital had told him he should bring Stiles to see someone, but with the funeral and everything - it's a flimsy excuse, and he knows it. The guilt burns as harsh as his nightly whiskey.

"I'd give it a try," the principal suggests gently. "Perhaps together. You'd both benefit from it."

When the sheriff leaves the office, Stiles is sitting outside next to the secretary's desk. He looks tiny, consumed by the silver box he's wearing. His face is tired, aged years beyond his less than a decade of existence. 

"I'm sorry, Dad," Stiles murmurs, eyes on the floor. 

"It's all right, bud," the sheriff says softly, kneeling so they're on the same level. He rubs a hand over Stiles' soft hair, shaved close to his scalp because it's the only hairstyle the sheriff knows how to cut. "I know you're frustrated."

Stiles' lip wobbles, tears pooling in his big brown eyes. The sheriff gets to his feet and gently places the box back over his head. "Come on, Mr. Robot," he says. "You're taking a sick day."

There's a muffled sniff from inside the box, but the robot hops off the chair and follows the sheriff out to the cruiser, where they drive around for the rest of the day. The sheriff arrests a shoplifter at CVS and the teen stares at the silver box in the front seat as the sheriff guides her into the back seat. 

"What's with the box?" she asks, and the sheriff says sagely, "That's a robot." The robot twists around and makes a series of scolding electronic noises. The sheriff slides into the drivers' seat, smiling at nothing.

-

He's not surprised when, after dinner and the light is fading, Derek Hale shows up on their front porch dressed as a cowboy and Stiles begs, "Please, Dad, can Derek take me trick-or-treating, _please?"_

"All right," the sheriff nods easily, because he doesn't think Derek would ever let Stiles get hurt. "Be back before seven."

He watches them walk down the driveway, watches Stiles reaches out and slips his hand into Derek's. He watches them until they're out of sight and only moves because he's got a small crowd of irritated trick-or-treaters amassed around him, clamoring for the candy in his hands. When they've gone, the sheriff goes inside and stands in front of the family portrait that hangs over the television. He looks at his wife's face, her soft features so much like Stiles'. 

"I just want him to be happy," he tells her. 

It's Halloween, the sheriff thinks. The spirits are walking the earth. Maybe she'll hear him. Maybe she'll come home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://grimm-times.tumblr.com), as always, and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/Grimm_times), too!


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